


Be Still My Heart

by armyofbees



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Oh god the pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, better than even this u guys, crutchie morris deserves better, davey is full of anxiety, god i wrote this in like 2 weeks while on a newsies high, listen i just love them ok, medda is best surrogate ""mom"", sprace is referenced a few times and explicitly mentioned like once, they're like a fucking spruce forest, way better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armyofbees/pseuds/armyofbees
Summary: For Katherine, life is great. It's spectacular. It's like she can leave this whole strike in the past and just move forward; she has everything she wants.For Davey, like Katherine, life is great. He's especially close with Jack, Katherine, and Crutchie. There might be an issue there, though, because both Crutchie and Katherine make his heart sing like Jack does, and Les will not shut up about it.For Jack, life is... different. Alternate. Winning wasn't the solution to their problems, it was just an assurance of a constant norm. And yes, he loves Katherine, and yes, he should probably have kissed Crutchie a long time ago, and yes, Davey is obnoxiously handsome, but that just presents more problems than it really solves, and his life is still a mess.For Crutchie, life is trying. It's a trying time, always, but it's also trying so hard to be better. Optimism can only get you so far, though, when your leg isn't any better and you're still begging for money and the two loves of your teenage life are dating some other girl. And not you.





	1. Katherine

**Author's Note:**

> This is set a couple weeks after the musical ends. All characters are as they appear in Newsies Live, except Crutchie, who can also be [this guy](https://www.lucaswells.com/about/). I had the privilege of going to see a wonderful regional production of Newsies a few weeks ago and it was amazing! I fell in love with the Crutchie there.
> 
> A few quick notes about this chapter:  
> \- [The second one](http://www.visual-arts-cork.com/history-of-art/russian-art.htm) is the painting of the old Russian men, mentioned in Jack and Kath's date.  
> \- The word "math" didn't come into popular use until much later in the 20th century, so as I was writing the Kath/Davey scenes, I was sobbing and cursing 1899 for not being more forward-thinking.
> 
> Alright, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT: Hey y'all! I was reading up on some discourse and I just wanted to remind everyone that I'm not disabled and I want everyone to be comfortable reading my work, so if I messed up anything with Crutchie/dealing with/addressing his disability, PLEASE don't be afraid to let me know! Thank you!

For the first couple weeks after the strike, Katherine is living in the clouds. She sees Jack a lot, and, subsequently, the rest of the Manhattan newsies. Her father, despite being stilted and a little forced, is actually trying to be her father again. He’s also trying to tolerate Jack, which is… a feat, she’ll admit. She doesn’t see much of Davey, but he’s back in school and she’s back at work, so they don’t really have the time.

The specifics aside, she’s proud of herself. She spent two weeks helping improve the lives of hundreds—thousands—of kids around New York. She’s made a _change_ with her writing, and it’s boosted her popularity wildly! While she’s still gawked at whenever she meets with an editor, at least she can report on actual stories now. Katherine loves Miss Medda, she really does, but if she has to go see another damn show at that theater, she’s pretty sure her head will explode.

Overall, her life is great. It’s amazing! She can’t wait to seize the day.

One Sunday in mid-August, Jack takes the day off to spend it with her. She’s been looking forward to this all week—she promised to take him to a traveling art exhibition that she’s had her eye on since June. This is its last week in town, and she could think of no better person to go see it with.

Jack meets her at her apartment Sunday morning, doing a little twirl and presenting her with flowers and a grand smile. Katherine laughs and takes the bouquet—tulips, nice. “Well, good morning.”

“Mornin’,” Jack says, leaning in to peck her on the cheek. “Beautiful day ta see some art, ain’t it?”

Katherine giggles and takes his hand, tugging him down the sidewalk. “It’s a beautiful day to be with you, Jack Kelly.”

“Aw, damn!”

They both laugh, then share a smaller, more private smile, and Katherine feels like she’s on top of the world.

As they walk, Jack points out random stores and they speculate about passersby; all easy conversation and check-ins.

“How’re Davey and Les?” asks Katherine.

“Davey’s great,” Jack beams, the way he does when he talks about Davey or Crutchie. “Ain’t seen Les, but Davey says school’s kickin’ both a’ their asses. They’s happy, though.”

Katherine nods. She’s glad. She really should check in with Davey herself, sometime. “That’s good. And how’s Crutchie?”

“Same as always,” Jack admits, his smile still there, but smaller. “I worry, ya know? He ain’t doin’ so well after the Refuge, an’ I still gotta talk ’im through nightmares sometimes.”

Katherine glances away. It’s one thing to see Jack’s drawings of that place, and quite another to imagine one of her _friends_ going through that. To imagine _Jack_ going through that, multiple times. “That’s awful. That place… I’m so glad it got shut down. I just wish I could’ve done something sooner.”

“How was you plannin’ on doin’ that?” Jack asks, incredulous. “You didn’t even know me before the strike.”

Katherine shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just one of those things.”

Jack goes quiet for a while, looking like he’s remembering something from a long time ago. “Yeah, I get that.”

Katherine squeezes his hand and offers a smile. “Hey, it’s gone now.”

Jack nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Yeah, sure.”

They walk on in silence until they reach the exhibition, which is being held inside a rented opera house. Katherine’s been here before for a review, a not unenjoyable rendition of one of Mozart’s works, but she has to admit she likes it a lot better with art on the stage instead of people.

The exhibit is a collection of Russian and Slavic artwork ranging from the mid-18th century to modern day. It’s mostly portraiture, and from the moment they walk in the door Jack goes on and on about colors and accuracy and atmosphere, while Katherine just points at the various pictures and lists words they remind her of.

They come across a painting of a bunch of old men laughing at each other, and she tilts her head and says, “Government.”

Jack laughs, points at the only one frowning, and says, “Pulitzer.”

Katherine only manages to hold her glare for a second before breaking down into peals of laughter. “My father is _trying_ to like you, you know.”

“Tch. He ain’t tryin’ to like me, he’s tryin’ ta make _you_ happy.”

Katherine shrugs. “There’s not much of a difference there.”

Jack grins at her and she blushes.

They meander across the stage, murmuring to each other and trying not to disturb the other visitors and failing every time they collapse into delighted laughter. After a couple hours, Katherine manages to nudge him towards the exit, reminding him that yes, they have lunch plans, and no, they cannot go through the whole exhibit for a fourth time.

She pulls him out of the opera house still jabbering about backgrounds and artists, and lets him talk all the way to the café, where she makes him take a breath to order a drink.

They sit at a table across from each other and Katherine smiles over it at him, all joy and contentedness. If this is what life is now, she’s more than happy with her lot.

“So, you ain’t been back to see Miss Medda?” Jack asks her when their drinks come. Jack has water, even though Katherine is paying.

Katherine smiles sheepishly. “No, I’ve been avoiding theatre altogether recently. Strikes a bad chord with me, you know?”

Jack nods slowly, looking contemplative. “So… would ya say no if I asked you to go see her new number with me?”

“Hm…” Katherine tilts her head. “It depends. I’ll need more details on what this number is.”

“Well, I ain’t got any.” Jack flashes her a grin. “I’ll let ya know when I do.”

Katherine nods and they move on, topic forgotten. They spend the rest of the afternoon wandering the streets of Manhattan, hand in hand, tulips slowly wilting, just basking in each other’s presence.

Katherine wants to bottle today and keep it on a shelf forever.

That evening, Jack drops her back off at her place. She doesn’t invite him inside because she’s tired, and because she knows he’s worried about not having seen Crutchie all day, so she sends him off with a kiss and a wave and an “I love you,” her heart feeling too big for her chest to contain.

 

* * *

 

She’s on her way home from the editor’s office on Monday when she runs into David Jacobs, of all people. He’s alone, so Katherine gives a wave and he makes his way across the street to her.

“Davey!” she exclaims.

“Kath!” he calls back, smiling. “Nice to see you again!”

“Yeah.” Katherine resumes her walk once he reaches her. “How have you been? Jack says school’s, ah, _kickin’ your ass,”_ she says, doing her best Jack impression.

Davey snorts and shrugs. “I’m good. Les and I have both been good. We’re getting back into the routine, y’know? It’s a little strange to be back in school. Reminds me how awful I am at mathematics.”

Katherine groans in sympathy. “Oh, don’t get me started.” She pauses, then glances at him. “If you ever need any help, though, I have a few tips and tricks I could pass on to you.”

Davey regards her with faint surprise. “I keep forgetting you’ve gotta have graduated to become a reporter.”

“Gee, thanks,” Katherine says dryly, but his tone was sincere enough; she’s not mad. They smile at each other.

“I’d like that,” Davey says after a moment, breaking eye contact. “I’d appreciate your help. I think Les would, too.”

Katherine stops abruptly as they reach the door of her apartment building, and nods to it. “Well, this is my place, if you ever need me.” She pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen, scribbles down her apartment number, and hands it to him. “There’s my apartment. Third floor, end of the hall. Drop by if you need anything.”

Davey nods gratefully. “Thanks, Kath.”

“See you around, Davey.”

They part ways, leaving her feeling strangely warm.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, there comes a knock at Katherine’s door. She opens it with something of a smoulder, expecting Jack, but has to take a couple steps back when Davey’s standing there waving at her instead. She feels herself blush as he gives her an odd look and a confused smile.

“Hi?”

“Hey, Davey!” she says, opening the door wider. “I thought you were… someone else. Um, why don’t—”

“You thought he was _Jack?”_ pipes Les, quite loudly, from behind Davey. Katherine hadn’t seen him before, and she flushes a deep red.

“I—maybe. What do you two want?”

Davey shushes Les and turns to her apologetically, but there’s an affable smile playing across his lips. “You promised me homework help if I needed. Figured I’d cash that in.”

“Right.” Katherine probably should’ve seen this coming. “Um, my apartment’s kind of a mess, but please, make yourself at home!” She steps back to let them enter and ushers them through the cluttered living room into the kitchen. They sit around the table by the window while she pours everyone a glass of water and joins them, notepad and pencils in hand.

Les sets about chugging his entire glass while trying to unpack his bag, and Davey looks on, vaguely horrified. Katherine just raises her eyebrows and hopes she doesn’t have to replace any water glasses.

“Well, what can I do for you boys?” Katherine folds her hands, leaning forward.

Les sets down his now-empty water glass and hefts out a heavy tome of a textbook, which Katherine takes with a quiet, “Oof.”

“We need help with mathematics,” Les declares. “Davey especially.”

Davey cuffs him over the ear, his cheeks tinged pink. “I may a’ mentioned I’m awful at it?”

Katherine smiles and nods. “Sure. Let’s take this one at a time. Les, do you have anything else you can work on while I help your brother?”

Les gives Davey a look that passes too quick for Katherine to decipher, and Davey swats at him. After a brief but tense staring contest, Les stands up and sticks his tongue out. Katherine just glances between them, a complete stranger to the complex world of sibling antics.

“There’s a pitcher of cold water in the fridge,” Katherine tells Les as he passes her, and he flashes her a thumbs up. He refills his glass and sits heavily on the couch, pulling out a book significantly smaller than his textbook and starting to read.

“He’s…” Davey shakes his head. “Sorry ’bout him.”

Katherine shrugs. “It’s no big deal. I never had a brother. Or a sister. I guess I never really thought about it.”

Davey smiles and scoffs. “He’s a pest. But it’s… nice. To have someone to look after.”

“I’d imagine it would be.” They just kind of… look at each other for a few seconds, and Katherine refreshes her memory of all things _Davey_ —the hooked nose, the dark eyes, the kind, soft smile. Then there comes a loud cough from the other room, and the atmosphere is broken. Katherine and Davey turn to shoot twin glares at Les, who’s trying his best to look innocent and failing. Katherine looks away first, because why is she even glaring in the first place? What were they doing that warranted that? It’s not like they’re flirting, or anything, right?

“Anyway,” Katherine says, and smiles, “mathematics, you said?”

“Geometry,” Davey agrees, twisting to pull his own textbook out of his messenger bag. “I’m… not doing so great.”

“That’s alright.” She proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes walking him through his homework because… God, he’s _awful._ An endearing kind of awful that makes her laugh and makes Les clear his throat or yell embarrassing things, but still awful.

“No, you have to divide _both_ sides, always,” Katherine says, trying her damndest to be patient.

“I— _fuck!”_ Davey exclaims, then immediately looks guilty. Les bursts out laughing when Davey glances over to him, and Katherine just smirks when he looks at her. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, he’s probably heard worse.” Katherine grins and Davey shrugs in agreement, returning the smile. Katherine doesn’t let herself get distracted this time, mostly because she’s a little tired of Les’ constant input. After a moment of thought, she stands up, pushing her chair back, and motions for Davey to do the same. “C’mon, we’re trying something.”

“Oh… kay?” Davey stands up and Katherine grabs his wrist, linking their arms. He glances at her sharply, looking a little terrified and a little lost. It’s cute.

Katherine laughs and knocks into him gently, a warm a fluttering feeling in her stomach. “Relax. Hey, Les! Come here a second.”

Les’ eyebrows rise, looking distinctly unimpressed by his brother’s red-tinged cheeks and Katherine’s wide smile. “What for?”

“Your brother has to learn this somehow, and nothing else is working. Come on.” At Les’ continued reluctance, Katherine rolls her eyes. “There are apples in the fridge. If you help me out, you get one.”

“Two,” Les says, and Katherine shoots him an impervious look. Les stares back a moment before caving. “Fine. What d’you want me to do?”

Katherine beckons him over, then gestures at Davey. “Give your brother a good, sound shove.”

Les smiles like it’s his birthday as he body slams his brother with all the weight in his five-foot body. Davey only has an instant to look at Katherine, betrayed, before he’s being shoved into her, and they both stumble across the tiny kitchen, collapsing against the counter. Katherine is distinctly aware of Davey falling on top of her for just a moment, and they’re pressed together in a way that makes her heartbeat hasten, before he scrambles to stand back up and offers Katherine a hand. She freezes abruptly— _Wait, what was_ that—and instead of taking his hand, she struggles her way up to standing on her own. In an attempt to look normal, she brushes herself off and pats Les on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean ‘send us flying across the kitchen,’ but thank you.” She nudges him towards the fridge. “Go ahead.”

Les abandons them for the apples and the living room again, and Katherine sits back down at the table across from Davey, steeling herself before looking into his eyes. “So?”

Davey avoids her gaze and shakes his head, his face pink. Katherine can’t quite describe what she feels then, but it’s somewhere between pleased and nervous. “So what?”

“So, why did I make you do that?” Katherine taps the geometry textbook that’s sitting open between them.

“To give Les a chance to beat up on me, ’cause I’m dumb as a rock?” Davey actually looks… upset. That’s not what Katherine had intended at all. Crap.

“No, not even a little bit.” She reaches out and taps Davey’s wrist, and he looks up just enough to meet her eyes. “Davey, you’re one of the smartest people I know. You helped organize a strike!” She bites back a smile as she says, “Do you know the first time Jack mentioned you to me?” He shakes his head. “I remember that… he was flirting with me, you know, the way he does, and I was trying to divert it. So I asked him if he’d always been the leader and he said to me… He said, ‘I’m a blowhard, _Davey’s_ the brains.’” The corners of Davey’s lips twitch as he tries to fight back a smile, and Katherine beams at him. “I told him I never expected him to be _modest,_ and… he just smiled.”

Davey really does smile then, probably imagining the scene exactly as it was. Katherine frequently wonders how well Davey and Jack really know each other, and, for that matter, how they actually feel about each other. She frequently wonders how _she_ feels about that. So far, she hasn’t reached any conclusive answers.

They finish up Davey’s questions, and then Katherine moves on to Les. He keeps shooting her suspicious glances when he thinks she can’t see, but he doesn’t ask any probing questions, and for that she’s grateful. She honestly doesn’t know how she’d answer them at this point. She doesn’t even know why she doesn’t know.

It’s almost sundown when she waves them off from the sidewalk outside her complex. “Be safe, and feel free to come back any time!”

“Thanks, Kath!” Davey calls, smiling, and Katherine finds herself returning it unwittingly.

Hm.


	2. Davey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Davey, like Katherine, life is great. He's back in school— Les is back in school—he helped improve the lives of hundreds of kids, he's made new friends, and he's especially close with Jack, Katherine, and Crutchie. (He may or may not be falling for one or all of them, though. Just maybe.) He meets up with Jack after school at Jack's selling spots, just to talk or to try to help out and whatnot. They go to Medda's place and see her, see shows together, and fuck, yeah, Davey might be falling for him. Which is really the only crimp in his lifestyle at this point. Crutchie is with Jack sometimes, and sometimes Davey goes to see Crutchie separately. And yeah, there might be an issue here because both Crutchie and Katherine make his heart sing like Jack does, and Les will not shut up about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enter davey, the homewrecker *airhorns*
> 
> \- I wrote this before I watched the original 1992 movie and I was like "oh I might've messed up Sarah's character or something I'll probably have to go back and edit this" and then I watched the movie. Turns out, Sarah doesn't have enough of an established character for me to have fucked it up. I'm sorry I'm incredibly bitter about that.  
> \- There's one scene where Crutchie "mimes locking his mouth shut" and that's because zippers hadn't been invented until 1910-ish so I couldn't say "zipping his mouth shut". @ historical fiction WHY  
> \- [Be Still My Heart](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wunY3BnKVI) by The Postal Service is a really good song for the dutchie/jackcrutchiedavey scene, and is also where I snatched the title of this fic from.  
> \- This chapter only exists for the dutchie scene. Appreciate my rarepair, everyone.

“Oh my God, what if I’m in love with her?”

Sarah pets his hair comfortingly, looking suspiciously like she’s trying not to laugh. “I’m sure you’re fine. I wouldn’t go as far as saying you’re _in love_ with her, anyway.”

“He’s definitely in love with her,” Les says from the chair next to them. Sarah swats at him and Davey groans hopelessly.

The three of them are sitting in the Jacobs’ family room, Davey sprawled across the couch with his head in Sarah’s lap, and Les reading a book he stole from their parents. Sarah pats Davey’s head again, cooing sympathetically.

“C’mon, Davey, it can’t be that big of a deal. You’re seventeen. You won’t be stuck on her forever.” Sarah tilts her head. “Why _can’t_ you date her, anyway?”

“She’s seeing my friend, Jack,” Davey grumbles, covering his face with his hands.

“Who he’s also in love with,” Les adds.

Davey starts, removes one hand from his face, almost afraid to look at Les. “What? No, I’m not. What the hell, Les?”

Sarah points at Les and looks grave. “Seriously, don’t say things like that.” She then pokes Davey. “And don’t swear. It’s not proper, either.”

Les doesn’t look convinced by either of them, but he just sniffs and returns to his book.

Davey suddenly feels a whole lot less comforted by his siblings, and kind of wants to go sulk in his room. Instead of being _that_ obvious, he covers his eyes again and mutters, “Whatever. Doesn’t matter, anyway. Neither of ’em are gonna wanna see me if I screw this up.”

Sarah hums. “Maybe it’s not so bad. They’re your friends, right? All you have to do is… not tell them.”

“Gee, thanks for the sage advice.” Davey lowers his hands and watches her dryly. “I was definitely planning on ruining my relationship with two of my best friends over this.”

Sarah flicks him, smiling. “I really don’t think I’m the one to talk to about this. Can’t you complain to someone who actually _knows_ them?”

Davey sighs and tries to think of a newsie who _wouldn’t_ immediately tell Jack that Davey may or may not be sweet on both him _and_ his girl. Not many names come to mind, but… “Maybe.”

“Then go bother them.”

“Fine.” Davey doesn’t stick his tongue out, because he’s not ten years old, but he _does_ give Les a little shove on the way out, because _fuck_ him for putting a voice to Davey’s unmentionable feelings.

It’s late, so he’s a little dubious about actually finding anyone awake, but sure enough, he finds Crutchie on a corner not far from Jack’s “penthouse”, making his way homeward with a spring in his step and a happy little hum. Davey suddenly thinks better of this whole thing because he really doesn’t want to ruin Crutchie’s good mood, and Crutchie sleeps a foot away from Jack, so who knows what he could tell him?

As he’s turning to leave, though, Crutchie calls, “Davey! Hey, Davey, I thought I caught a glimpse a’ ya!”

Davey grimaces, wipes his face clean of emotion, and turns back towards his friend. “Hey, Crutchie.” He falls into step beside Crutchie, offering a hesitant smile. “Heading home?”

“Yep,” Crutchie says, and grins. “I made _fifty cents_ today! A whole half dollar!” He starts suddenly and grabs Davey’s forearms, turning him so they’re face-to-face. “I ain’t gotta save for papes tomorrow!” He grins and shakes Davey’s arm, while Davey just smiles and listens in bemusement. “Lemme treat ya to somethin’ from Jacobi’s.”

“Is Jacobi’s even open this late?”

Crutchie frowns. “Good point. Ah, well.” He lets go of Davey and hobbles back a couple steps. “If ya want anythin’ tomorrow afternoon, ya know where ta find me.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” They share a smile, and then Davey glances away. Well, he’s here now. He might as well fulfill his purpose. “Hey, is there any chance I could talk to you in private?”

Crutchie regards him for a moment, face suddenly serious, then nods. “Jack ain’t home yet. I was gonna surprise ’im with somethin’, but it ain’t no big deal.”

Davey nods. “Thanks, Crutch.”

He will forever be impressed by Crutchie’s remarkable agility when climbing the ladder to his and Jack’s sleeping spot, but he has a heart attack every time Crutchie’s foot slips or he tosses his crutch up. Davey hovers at the bottom, worriedly making plans to catch his friend if he falls. He doesn’t, so Davey follows him up, and sets about worrying on the matter of his impending doom.

Crutchie sits back once they’re both up on the platform and watches Davey expectantly. Davey feels himself flushing under Crutchie’s gaze, and regrets everything all the more.

“I… You can’t tell _anyone.”_ Davey suddenly meets Crutchie’s gaze with crushing intensity, because so help him, this stays between them.

Crutchie raises his eyebrows and mimes locking his mouth shut. “Not a word. Promise.”

Davey takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and says, “I think I’m in love with Katherine.” He pauses, and when Crutchie doesn’t say anything, he continues, trying not to think about what he’s saying, “And… Jack.”

When he opens his eyes again, Crutchie’s face is an odd mixture of disappointed, resigned, and interested. After a moment of just staring at each other, Crutchie asks, “Both of ’em?”

Davey nods.

“Hm,” says Crutchie, nodding contemplatively. Davey has no idea what’s going through his head, and he does not like it one bit. “Well, why’d ya tell _me?_ I reckon Jack’d be a lot more inclined ta hear ya out.”

Davey shakes his head vehemently. “No. Definitely not. I ain’t tellin’ him.”

“Then why’d ya come all this way?” Crutchie flicks his knee, and Davey smiles small.

“’Cause my sister got tired a’ my complaining.”

Crutchie shakes his head and smiles, too. “Well, if we’s tellin’ things we ain’t never plannin’ on sharin’, I can commiserate. Over Jack, I mean.”

Davey’s thoughts just… stop for a moment. He hadn’t exactly expected Crutchie to just be… _okay_ with this, let alone be in the same boat. His brain takes a minute to process what he just heard. “I—oh,” he says intelligently.

Crutchie laughs awkwardly and holds out a hand. “Hopeless pinin’ club?”

Davey snorts and glances away, but he shakes it. “Hopeless pining club.”

It’s almost midnight and Davey doesn’t feel like walking back home, so he and Crutchie just sit together, talking and trading anecdotes for a while, Davey occasionally dissolving into dejected mumbling.

“The first day I knew ’im,” Crutchie says with a faint smile, “I didn’t have no money, so he bought me a hundred papes. Dunno where _he_ got the money. An’ then, as if he had ta prove he’s an angel, he stuck with me all day an’ helped me sell off my last few papes. _Then,_ he brought me back ta the Lodge an’ they was outta extra beds, so he just, real calm like, says, ‘Aw, that’s alright. He can sleep with me, ain’t no problem.’” Davey laughs, shocked, and Crutchie nods animatedly. “Right! He says so many things I think he forgets to think ’em through. So I’m standin’ there, thinkin’, ‘I ain’t heard that right,’ ’specially ’cause everybody else is actin’ like he didn’t say nothin’.” Crutchie sighs and shakes his head, smiling. “Anyhow, nothin’ came a’ it, obviously, but I never got up the nerve ta ask about it, so I guess I’ll never forget it.”

“Wow,” says Davey, impressed. “I guess every first day with Jack’s gotta be exciting. On my first day, Les and I met up with him after we finished selling, and we invited him home to meet our folks, but he said no. Before we could leave, though, Snyder appears outta some building and Jack takes off running. So we’re going as fast as we can, and we end up at Medda’s place.” There’s a moment of silence as they both remember the theater. “That was the first time I saw his paintings.” Davey smiles sheepishly and doesn’t meet Crutchie’s eyes. “He grabbed my hand, at one point, to pull me along? And I guess he didn’t really think to let go ’til we reached Medda’s. I guess it was charming, then, but now I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

They bask in memories for a moment, until Davey puts his head in his hands and lets out a moan of despair. “Oh my God, I’m doomed! _We’re_ doomed!”

“Listen, the worst that can happen is they both reject ya and you gotta spend the rest a’ your life bein’ a bitter old man with me.” Crutchie gives him a bright smile, and Davey almost forgets the harsh reality behind those words.

“Oh, sure, _that’s_ the worst that could happen,” he mutters sardonically. “You realize this ain’t legal, right? At all.”

Crutchie shoves him lightly. “Ya know there ain’t no newsie that cares about that kinda thing, right?” Davey looks at him sharply, surprised. Crutchie smiles. “Trust me. ’Sides, none of ’em made a big deal about me _livin’_ with ’im. Ain’t nobody gonna care about you crushin’ on ’im, ’cept ta give ya a hard time about it.”

From what he knows of the newsies, this… actually doesn’t surprise Davey. He nods contemplatively. It’s slightly reassuring. “That doesn’t sound so bad, y’know,” he muses. “The bitter old man thing, I mean. You’re not so bad, Crutch.”

Crutchie’s smile turns into something more genuine, and he sounds pleased as he replies, “Neither are you, Dave.”

They’re interrupted by the sound of feet on the rungs of the ladder, and a moment later Jack’s poking his head up over the edge of the platform, already grinning. “I thought I heard ya, Davey. Hey, Crutchie.”

“Evenin’, Jack.”

“Hi.”

Jack hauls himself up into the small space and they all shift so they’re facing each other in a sort of triangle. “So, what’s the deal this time?”

Davey and Crutchie trade a glance, and Davey asks, “What d’you mean?”

Jack shrugs. “Well, you only ever show up here this late when you’re feelin’ upset or got somethin’ real important ta say. So which is it?”

There’s a long silence during which Jack just looks at them expectantly, and Davey tries to come up with an answer while Crutchie tries to fade into the shadows. Finally, Davey manages, “Um, actually, I—I was—I ran into Crutchie on his way home! And we ended up talking and, ah, lost track a’ time.”

Jack nods slowly, and Davey knows he doesn’t believe him for a second. “Riiight. If you ain’t gonna tell me, ya just gotta say.”

Davey feels himself flush for the thousandth time that day. He’s glad it’s dark, but he’s pretty sure Jack can tell anyway. “Okay, well… it’s a private thing, then.”

“There ya go,” Jack says brazenly, then glances at Crutchie. “You too?” Crutchie nods, and Jack shrugs, and that’s that. Davey feels himself begin to deflate until Jack asks, “So Dave, you’se plannin’ on goin’ home, or are ya spendin’ the night?”

Davey looks between Crutchie and Jack and can’t find a single part of him that wants to leave. So he shrugs and says, “It’s late. I’ll stay if you’ll have me.”

The other two have some sort of nonverbal debate in the tilt of their heads and the degree of their shrugs. “Go ahead an’ stay, then,” Jack says, and Davey somehow manages a smile over the explosion of butterflies in his stomach.

“Sure, thanks,” he says, watching Jack cast off his vest and recline into a more comfortable position, arms folded behind his head. It’s surprising to him that he’s never actually stayed the night before. Sure, he spends a lot of time around Jack and Crutchie and in the penthouse, but this is different, if only for the time frame and the implications. It occurs to him that he’ll never hear the end of it from Les, after this.

“You gonna sleep sittin’ up?” Jack teases, tapping Davey’s leg. “C’mon, lay down an’ watch the stars with me.”

“Ain’t I invited to this?” Crutchie asks, voice full of mock offense.

Jack just scoffs and waits for both of them to lie down. Davey tries not to focus on the fact that he’s pressed in between his two friends, because his heart is pounding and he’s afraid they’ll feel it, and instead looks up to the sky.

“What do you mean, look at the stars? There ain’t no stars to look at.” Davey elbows Jack gently, because the sky’s as dark as the sea on a cloudy night and Davey needs a distraction.

“Ah, but you’re wrong,” Jack starts.

“Ya gotta look at the stars ya can’t see,” Crutchie finishes for him, and Davey looks at him with a confused smile. “Least, that’s what he used ta say, when he was set on Santa Fe.”

 _“Now,”_ Jack cuts back in, reaching over Davey to punch Crutchie’s arm, “I say it because you gotta remember some things is there even if ya can’t see ’em.” He pauses, long enough for Davey to turn to him, instantly realize how close they are, and blush what is undoubtedly a deep red. “Also ’cause it’s funny.”

Davey remembers to laugh a second too late, because Jack’s looking into his eyes and _his_ eyes are a rich green-turned-brown by the dim lighting and they’re practically breathing into each other’s mouths and—Davey forces himself to look back to the starless sky.

“I like both of those,” he says, his lips quirking up into a smile when Crutchie gives his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “Like a metaphor for hope, right?”

“Ha! Exactly.” Jack nudges Davey once, then rolls over. “Well, early start tomorrow. Night, Davey. Night, Crutchie.”

Davey drifts off that night, listening to Crutchie’s gentle snores and Jack’s soft breathing, feeling content and happy and surrounded by love.

 

* * *

 

Consciousness comes slowly, then suddenly and jarringly, like a train crash.

Davey registers first warmth on both sides, then weak golden sunlight creeping its way across the buildings, then a weight across his stomach, then breath on his neck, then—

 _Shit._ He snaps into alertness with a panic that permeates his heart and lungs, his mind, his whole being. On one side of him, Jack has rolled over sometime during the night, and his head is resting on Davey’s shoulder. His breath tickles Davey’s neck with each exhale, and he looks as serene in sleep as he does while sketching. On the other side, Crutchie is nuzzled into him, his arm draped across Davey’s body, snoring quietly into Davey’s chest.

It’s a beautiful moment, Davey thinks, as the sun climbs the horizon slowly, slowly, and he’s the only one awake to witness it. He’s struck suddenly by two realizations: one, he never wants to let this moment go. He will stay here as long as possible. He won’t move, won’t breathe, will _fight_ for the few minutes he has, even if he’s alone in them. Two, this beautiful moment must include Crutchie, like this, here, now. And, God help him, Davey wouldn’t change that for a thing.

Instead of screaming for ten years and then running far, far away, like one mutinous part of his brain is telling him to do, Davey stays there, motionless, trying to memorize the way Jack’s breath feels and the way Crutchie’s arm is situated _just so._ He spends a good few minutes thinking of a possible explanation for what the hell to tell whoever wakes up first, and he hopes it’s Crutchie.

A yawn, and then a grumble, and then the arm shifts, lifts, and Crutchie rolls over onto his back. He sits up and stretches, and Davey does his damndest not to stare. “Mornin’.” Crutchie glances down, then seems to realize how the sleeping arrangement must’ve worked out. “Oh. Sorry ’bout that.”

“Nah, it’s no big deal,” Davey says, trying to sound airy and off-handed and probably missing by a long shot.

Crutchie shrugs and shifts again, observing for a few moments the way Davey and Jack are curled into one another. There’s a smile playing at his lips, and he looks at Davey for a moment like he’s going to do something wonderful or stupid or both, and then he looks away.

“He’ll be up soon. Ya wanna say goodbye or do ya wanna leave the ’splainin’ up to me?”

Davey slowly twists out from under Jack, sitting up so he doesn’t feel so pathetic. “I… think I should head home. Les’ll give me hell anyway, might as well pretend I ain’t been out all night.”

Crutchie nods and claps Davey on the shoulder. “See ya later, Dave. We should have another hopeless pinin’ club meetin’ soon.”

“For sure,” Davey agrees, then hoists himself over the edge and onto the ladder. He turns around once he’s on the ground, and watches as Jack wakes with the creeping sun, as Crutchie waves to him; as another day starts and his perfect moment ends.

 

* * *

 

Les side-eyes him when he gets home, but doesn’t say anything. Not in front of Sarah, at least. He may be brash, but Les isn’t stupid.

That afternoon, they walk home together. Sarah has a club after school, so she’ll be home later, and it gives Les and Davey plenty of time alone. Davey is dreading this and _has been_ dreading it all day, but there’s nothing he can do to avoid it.

There’s a tense silence for maybe thirty seconds before Les asks, mock-casually, “So… where were you last night?”

Davey will not say “Jack’s”. He will _not._ “I went to find Crutchie and complain to him. We ended up talking and it was late, so he let me stay the night.”

Les looks skeptical. “Don’t Crutchie and Jack sleep together?”

Davey shushes him; they’re in the _middle of the street._ “They… not…” He would, frankly, rather die than have this conversation with _Les_ right now. “They both sleep in Jack’s penthouse.”

“Whatever,” Les says, and waves a hand. Davey might just melt into a puddle right there.

“Listen, I dunno what you’re trying to—”

“So did you sleep with them or did you _sleep with_ them?” Les asks, and Davey can feel himself turning red, glancing nervously at the other people on the street.

 _“Nothing happened,”_ he hisses, slapping a hand over Les’ mouth, “and you’re gonna shut up until we get home.”

Les, instead of looking put out like Davey had hoped, grins and nods, pulling away from Davey’s hand. “Fine, but then you spill.”

Davey doesn’t say anything, but Les bounces all the way home. Their parents aren’t back from work yet, so the moment the door closes behind them, Les turns to him with expectant eyes. It takes everything Davey has not to throttle him, but he manages, and leads his brother over to the couch.

“You’ll say _nothing_ about this,” Davey orders once they’re both seated, and Les just shrugs. This is much less reassuring than Davey’s talk with Crutchie last night, but alas. He’s here now and Les is going to assume the worst if Davey doesn’t put him right. “I don’t know why you’re so interested in my love life anyway.”

“It’s convoluted and _weird,”_ Les says, “like the British royal family in the fifteenth century.”

“You’re too young to know about the fifteenth century. What kinda history classes are you taking?”

“You’re deflecting.”

Davey really wishes Les wasn’t right. “Fine,” he says, because he can’t argue. “I… _nothing has happened._ At all.”

“Right.”

“Seriously.” Davey rubs at his temples and tries to think of how to phrase this in a way that won’t have Les laughing at him for eternity. “And this ain’t… _okay,_ so you can’t go making suggestions you know I can’t follow through on.”

“Mhmm.”

“I _might_ be falling for all three of ’em.”

Les pumps his fists triumphantly. “I _knew it!”_ He then looks at Davey very seriously and says, “You should tell them.”

Davey doesn’t even reply, just gives Les a flat look.

“Okay fine,” Les pouts. “It was worth a shot.”

“No, it wasn’t. You happy now?” Les just grins, so Davey stands up and leaves the room, because this conversation is _over_ and he is never having it again.

Not ten minutes later, Les wanders into Davey’s room, ignoring the “Don’t you dare,” that answers his knock.

“I need help with my homework.”

Davey sighs and beckons him over. “Okay, let’s see it.”

“Not from you, from Katherine.” Les is a good actor, and he holds a perfectly straight face, but Davey knows him better than that. He’s doing this purely for the torture and the fun of it.

Thirty minutes of arguing later, Sarah gets home. After hearing their dilemma, she banishes them from the house and tells them, “Just go and see her, you idiots. You’re still friends with her, and you can’t run away from that forever!”

So, Davey ends up resignedly following Les to Katherine’s house, his feet heavy and his mind buzzing.

Katherine greets them at the door of her apartment, and Davey tries to ignore his flipping stomach as she leads them inside. She pats his shoulder as she passes on her way to the kitchen. “Feel free to wait in the living room. I want to talk to you anyway, after I’m done with Les.”

Davey nods and smiles, afraid he’ll choke if he tries to say anything.

He makes it through the half hour it takes Katherine and Les to work through the homework by fidgeting and overthinking everything Katherine could want to talk about. She’s definitely figured out that he likes her, hasn’t she? Oh, God, she’s gonna kill him. Better yet, she’ll get Jack to kill him. Either way, Davey is one-hundred percent sure he won’t make it to tomorrow.

The only thing keeping him tethered to reality is the memory of last night and this morning, which he retreats to when his breathing gets too ragged and he begins feeling dizzy. It’s a good thing to hang on to, that moment of clarity and realization, and eventual acceptance. It makes him feel a bit better.

That doesn’t stop his hands from shaking or his heart from fluttering when Katherine ushers Les out the door and sits down in the chair across from him, though.

“His interjections are less than helpful,” is the first thing she says, which does nothing to alleviate the onsetting panic. She holds up her hands defensively, “No offense; he’s your brother.”

Davey manages a laugh. “No, you ain’t wrong. He’s a nuisance. An endearing nuisance, but still.”

Katherine gives him a peculiar look. “What’s got you so nervous? I was just going to ask you to go for something to eat with me tonight.” She narrows her eyes playfully. “You got something to hide, Jacobs?”

And suddenly, his nerves melt away. She _doesn’t_ know. He smiles easily, and thanks God for his weird, situational anxiety. “Nah, just… got a big test tomorrow.” The lie comes with surprising fluidity—Davey’s never been the best liar—and he’s grateful.

“So? What do you say?”

“For sure.”

 

* * *

 

They walk Les home together, then Katherine takes the lead and marches him practically halfway across the city to some joint she thinks he’ll especially like.

“So, what do you do, aside from struggle in math and look pretty?” she casually asks as they’re walking, casting an affectionate glance towards him.

Davey tries not to smile too wide at the compliment, and shrugs. “I read. I’ve always liked English. Not quite as much as Les, though.”

“What do you read?”

“I like history, mostly, and fiction.” He pauses, shrugs, and continues in a mumble, “And your articles.”

Katherine laughs and knocks shoulders with him. “You’re incredibly sheepish, for a former newsie.”

Davey snorts. “We ain’t been friends for long, Kath. I get nervous.”

Katherine tilts her head. “You’ve known me about as long as you’ve known Jack.”

“And I’ve spent twice the time with him,” he counters. “I know him better, is all.”

A contemplative nod, and then a finger pointed in his direction. “Let’s change that. Pick a day of the week, Jacobs.”

“Wednesday,” Davey says, watching her with a confused but contented smile.

 _“Today’s_ a Wednesday, that’s boring. Oh well. I’ll see you every Wednesday from here on,” declares Katherine, raising her eyebrows as if to challenge him.

“As my schedule allows, I hope?”

She scoffs, a smiling sound. “As your schedule allows, then.”

The restaurant is quiet and simple, made interesting by the various past newspaper publications plastered to the wall. In one corner is a frame dedicated to the _Newsies Banner._ Davey and Katherine trade smiles, feeling like they’re sharing a joke with far more people than just themselves. Jack is there, in that smile, and so is Crutchie. Race, too, and Spot, and Albert, and Specs. Everyone.

They pick a table in a corner and chat quietly. They don’t eat much, but they talk until the place is nearly closed. Davey’s nervous at first, trying very hard to sound smart and not let on that his heart is pounding, but eventually they both relax into the conversation and companionship.

“My folks’ll think I’m off being a delinquent again,” Davey says after some time, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Again?” Katherine asks, curious.

Davey smiles, selfishly wanting to keep his perfect moment to himself. “Nothing,” he says, and waves a hand, and feels greedy and _good_ about it.

“Well, I suppose I should get home, too.”

They both stand and make their way to the door, starting down the street. Their houses are in roughly the same direction, so Davey doesn’t see any point in parting ways quite yet.

“I’ll be looking forward to next Wednesday,” he says, without thinking.

“Will you?” Katherine asks, teasing tinged with surprise.

He halts and glances at her with a grin, and she stops too. “Of course. You’re…” he trails off, trying to find a way to tell her that she’s wonderful in the way that makes every part of him feel like electricity and floating.

“I’m…?” Katherine prompts, her eyes too intense for her light tone, and suddenly the air between them feels very close.

Davey still doesn’t have the words, and the only actions he can think of would be very, very stupid of him. So he shakes his head. “You’re great,” he half-asses, and starts back down the sidewalk.

Katherine chases after him and grabs his arm, stopping him and turning him towards her, and they are _inches_ apart. “That’s not what you were about to say, was it?” Her voice is low and feather-soft; tempting.

Davey starts to reply, but his mouth suddenly feels very dry. “No,” he manages, in barely a whisper, and he’s not sure quite how it happens, but he leans in and she leans in and suddenly they’re kissing. Katherine is delicate but persistent, a soft, plush feeling of desire. She kisses him like she planned this, even though they both know she didn’t, and he kisses back like he _wants_ this, not just now, but forever. The hand on Davey’s arm pulls him closer, and he reaches out to rest his fingertips on her waist, not once breaking the kiss. Katherine’s close enough that Davey can feel her eyelashes flutter against his cheek, and he wants to bottle this sensation and savor it.

They break slowly apart, lingering against each other’s mouths like they don’t really want to stop. Davey knows they probably should, because this is pretty unethical and if he’s in love with two—three?—people, why’d he have to kiss the one who’s already seeing someone? Still, it’s like a part of him goes missing the moment she pulls away, and he sees that feeling in her gaze, too.

They stay close together, willing the feeling of the moment to stay.

And then Davey kisses her again, and she doesn’t protest, but when they separate this time she puts a gentle finger to his lips. “This can’t happen.”

Davey feels a horrible balloon of hope in his chest, some feeling of awe and joy and desire, collapse at those words. He doesn’t want Jack and Katherine to break up. He just… doesn’t want to lose this, either.

“I know,” he says, pathetically, helplessly. There’s an ache in his throat and behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I know,” he replies, and offers a weak smile. He can’t cry in front of her. “I should be apologizing.”

“No,” she says, and then leans in to kiss his cheek before stepping back to a respectable distance. “See you next Wednesday, Jacobs?”

Davey hesitates in disbelief—she still wants to see him?—and he can’t muster another smile, but he says, “Yeah. Wednesday,” and sets off with a wave, not caring that he’s taking the long way home.


	3. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Jack, life is... different. Not better, necessarily, but... shifted. Alternate. Winning wasn't the solution to their problems, like Davey and Katherine seem to think, it was just an assurance of a constant norm. It was the reminder that he'll still suffer, but at least the government can call it fair and just, now. And yes, he loves Katherine, and yes, he should probably have kissed Crutchie a long time ago, and yes, Davey is obnoxiously handsome, but that just presents more problems than it really solves, and his life is still a mess. He's got a job with Pulitzer, great, but that doesn't change the fact that hundreds of other kids are starving and homeless and orphaned and not getting better. And he's sick of Davey and Katherine acting like everything's changed, when they're the ones who don't have to put up with this life anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these kids are so dumb and crutchie morris deserves better
> 
> I don't have any notes for this chapter but thanks for reading!

It’s easy to forget that winning doesn’t magically make everything better. It’s easy to think that suddenly they’re back to being… king of New York, or whatever they’d come up with. It’s really very simple to just forget that they’re still starving, still overworked, and still, above all, disrespected.

“Get ya papes!” Jack yells, and can only guess if he’ll get a customer or a fist around his throat. It’s not any different than it was before. Sometimes, he’ll get asked about the strike. He’ll reply proudly, and usually get a cent or two extra out of it. Perks, he guesses, but it’s a far cry from actually fixing anything.

Most days, after work, he’ll go to Jacobi’s, or to his penthouse, or to Medda’s, and draw. Pulitzer’s making good on his word: Jack has a job as a political cartoonist, and the pay is good. It’s certainly good enough to live on, by Jack’s standards, but he decided a long time ago that he wouldn’t abandon his friends if he got another job. He sticks around and sells with the newsies, and splits his earnings from the papes with the younger kids.

After work, he’ll usually have someone with him to bounce ideas off of. Most often, it’s Katherine, time spent together sweet and funny and perfect. He can ask her about any new articles she’s written lately, and she can tell him about any relevant news that he could make a drawing out of.

It’s a Tuesday, and they’re sitting in Jack’s penthouse. Crutchie is out somewhere with Race and Davey is on his way, but for now it’s just Jack and Katherine. They’re facing each other, legs crossed and a blank piece of sketch paper between them.

“McKinley and China,” Katherine says.

“I ain’t gonna draw the President! What if they’s lookin’ to arrest me or somethin’?” Jack scrubs a hand down his face. “I wanna be… I wanna draw things what’s relevant to the kids a’ this city. The adults too, but ain’t I s’posed to be the voice a’ the… the new generation?”

Katherine takes his hand and intertwines their fingers, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, I know. It just feels like there’s not much else to write about now.” Her smile broadens. “The storm has passed, you know? We won! The strike was a success, and now… now it’s solved.”

Jack frowns a little, and thinks to contradict her, but all that comes out is, “Hm.”

Katherine’s smile lingers, and Jack returns it, if distantly. He lifts her hand and kisses it gently, and she laughs. “What a gentleman. Listen, if not national news, then what is there to draw? It’s not like the newsies have anything phenomenal going on.”

Jack heaves another sigh and drops her hand. “I dunno.”

Katherine reaches out and touches his jaw gently, tilting his face up to hers, and kisses him. Jack smiles into her mouth and kisses back, slowly and peacefully. It’s summer, they’re young, and they’re in love. Everything else melts away.

“No stress, right? Life’s good,” Katherine murmurs when she pulls back. “You’ll figure it out.”

Jack’s mouth twitches back into a frown, and he pecks her on the lips again before sitting back to give the blank paper still resting between them a dirty look.

They’re silent for a few moments, and Katherine looks like she’s about to ask him something, when there’s a voice from down below: “Hey, what’s got Jack Kelly all down and out?” Both Katherine and Jack peer over the side of the railing to see Davey climbing towards them. “Ain’t you living the high life now?”

Jack snorts and lays flat on the metal platform, wrist thrown over his eyes. “Don’t I wish?”

“Hi, Davey,” Katherine says, sounding odd. Her voice is suddenly nervous—pitched too high and like she’s trying far too hard to sound casual.

“Kath,” says Davey, just as awkwardly. Jack is beginning to wonder what’s up with them when he feels Davey settle next to him, hand reaching out to pick Jack’s arm up off his face. Davey’s proximity and the sudden, too-bright sunlight is enough to distract him, for now. “C’mon, what’s up with you? Can’t we bask in the victory for at least a week or two?”

Jack groans and pulls his hand away, trying uselessly to scoot away from Davey. He’s pressed up against the railing already, so he doesn’t get far. Davey’s legs are pressed against his side and Katherine has one hand on his ankle and Jack just kind of wants to melt.

“No,” he says, and isn’t sure where the steel in his voice comes from.

“What do you mean?” Davey protests good-naturedly, flicking Jack in the ribs. “We won! Jackie, we’re the movement of the century.”

“Won the battle,” Jack retorts, a mockery of Davey’s own words, and sits up, shooting both of them a venomous glare. He’s met with two pairs of wide, confused eyes, and almost drops it right there, but. “No, we can’t _bask in the victory,_ cause it ain’t much a’ one.” Jack looks between them, then settles with staring at Davey, because he feels kind of bad doing it to Katherine. “’Specially if you’se askin’ us newsies, what were actually affected.”

Davey looks like he’s at a loss for words, and Katherine says, voice high, “But I thought—”

“What, we’s gonna be saved just ’cause we can buy an extra pape?” Jack gestures around himself. “I’m still sleepin’ outside. Hell, Crutchie’s still gotta climb a ladder to get ta ’is bed. What do ya think we’s gonna do when winter comes? Ain’t nothin’ _changed,_ they’s just able to ignore us now.”

Katherine makes an upset noise high in her throat. “Jack—”

“No, he’s right,” Davey interrupts. He’s watching Jack warily, but he’s nodding. “You’re right.” He glances at Katherine. “Kath, we got it easy. We helped out and then left. We ain’t gotta reason to stay. I go back to school, you go back to work, and we ain’t gotta deal with any a’ this anymore.”

Davey tries to meet Jack’s eyes but Jack looks away, muttering, “It’s not… The strike helped. It… it got us a bit a’ recognition. They ain’t gonna change up our prices anymore. But we’s still just tools for ’em.” At that, he looks back at Davey. “The strike made our voices heard, but it ain’t made our lives any better.”

All three of them are quiet. Jack sort of wants to take everything back, but then Davey says, “I’m sorry,” just as Katherine says, “Well, draw _that_ then!” and it’s okay.

Jack raises an eyebrow as both of them look at each other, look at Jack, and then burst out laughing. Jack smirks along with them, and forgets to be paralyzed by how nice Davey’s smile is, or how he grabs Jack’s shoulder, or how Katherine is looking at them fondly, happily.

He lets himself just bask in the moment, and thinks that if every day was like this, he’d enjoy life a lot more.

 

* * *

 

Thursday nights are for Crutchie. Generally, it’s more than just Thursdays, but Thursdays are sacred. They’re _reserved._ Mostly they go to Medda’s place and Crutchie watches Jack paint, or they go back to the penthouse and pretend to sleep while they talk until the odd hours of the morning.

Today they’re at Medda’s. She let them in with a grin and a wink before shooing them to the back room. Jack always wonders how much she really knows about him.

Jack’s kneeling in front of a backdrop while Crutchie sits on a table a few feet away when Jack confesses, “I just keep thinkin’ that maybe I shoulda kept my mouth shut.”

Crutchie snorts. “Maybe, but then I’d hafta do the talkin’, and you know I ain’t so good at yellin’.”

Jack smiles and paints a careful stroke down the river Medda asked for. “Yeah… you shoulda seen their faces, though. ’S almost like I stepped on a puppy or somethin’.”

There’s a pause. “Jack,” Crutchie says, voice small. Jack pauses, surprised, then stands abruptly and turns to face him, because he knows that voice—it’s how Crutchie sounded the first few nights after the Refuge, how he still sounds if they talk about it too long. Crutchie’s looking down at the floor, his good foot wrapped around his bad one and his knuckles white from clutching the edge of the table.

Jack steps over to him and puts his hands on Crutchie’s shoulders, trying to look him in the eye. “What’s up?”

“You were right. To say that.” Crutchie still won’t look at him. “It’s not fair for… for them to be walkin’ around, actin’ like they made such a big difference. They didn’t! We didn’t. It’s… It’s not…”

“I know,” Jack murmurs, and steps forward to pull him into a hug. Crutchie wraps his arms tight around Jack’s shoulders and Jack can tell he’s trying not to cry. “We’s all glad the Refuge is gone, and we’s all glad we ain’t gotta pay no sixty cents for some papes, but it ain’t no better than it was a few months ago.”

Crutchie nods. “I ain’t tryin’ ta whine. I really ain’t. We’s done somethin’ amazing.”

Jack brings a hand up to pet Crutchie’s hair, pulling him closer. “Yeah, we has.”

They stay there for a long time, just tangled in each other, and Jack thinks that in a different time, in a different life, he might’ve whispered something he’s too afraid to now.

Then Crutchie ducks out of his grasp, face tinged pink, and nods towards Jack’s canvas. “So what’s this for? Big show?”

Jack grins and steps back to let Crutchie see it fully. “Medda says she’s openin’ a new feature. Gotta new song with dancers an’ everythin’.” He pauses, then beams at his friend. “Hey, whatcha say we go an’ see it together?”

Crutchie frowns, brow knitting. “Ain’t you wanna go with, uh, with Katherine?”

Jack’s face falls and he looks away. He rubs the back of his neck. “I, ah… I prolly should, shouldn’t I?” Crutchie nods sheepishly, and Jack wishes that they could just drop the whole thing, that Crutchie wasn’t so goddamn conscientious. That he could have a moment of just _Crutchie_ all to himself.

“Anyhow,” Crutchie says, sounding shy, “might ya wanna invite Davey instead?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “You really don’t wanna spend time with me, huh?”

“I’s spendin’ time with ya right now!” Crutchie protests. “I jus’ think maybe you wanna see ’em. I ain’t nothin’ special, and you three’s a good match.”

“Match?”

“A’ friends.”

Jack regards him carefully for a few moments, suspicious. For one thing, what’s Crutchie trying to get at? For another, why the hell’s he so self-conscious all of the sudden? Jack’s at a loss, so he softens his tone and says, “You and I’s a good match. You and Davey’s a good match. Hell, we makes a pretty nice trio. Don’t sit there sellin’ yourself short just ’cause you think your leg makes you less of a person.”

Crutchie goes quiet and doesn’t meet Jack’s eyes for a while, and they just stand there, watching each other. Jack finds himself missing the easy companionship that they had before the strike happened, before he met Katherine and Crutchie started tensing up around him. There’s a correlation there, Jack’s not stupid, but he doesn’t know how to bring it up and he doesn’t think Crutchie does, either.

At length, Crutchie murmurs, “I think I’ll take ya up on the show, then.”

Jack smiles and folds his arms. “I thought ya didn’t wanna go.”

“Aw, don’t make this hard, Jackie,” Crutchie grumbles, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

Jack laughs and holds up his hands in surrender, leaning forward to give Crutchie’s shoulder an amiable shove. “Sure thing. I’ll let Miss Medda know ta save us a box.”

That night, they’re lying there side-by-side, and Jack’s staring up at what he can make out of the stars, when Crutchie murmurs, “You think God’s watchin’ us? … D’you even believe in God?”

Jack huffs wryly. “Tch. Ain’t nobody believe in God.” A pause. “Least, I don’t think so. People says they do, but they’s just lookin’ for a way outta all the bad they’s done.” It’s not something he’s thought about a lot, but Crutchie sounds like he’s looking for reassurance, not an explanation.

“So you think he ain’t watchin’?”

Jack turns his head to look at Crutchie. He’s gazing at Jack, eyes curious and imploring and soft. And Jack thinks, _He’s beautiful,_ and doesn’t even have the energy to berate himself. “I think if he is, he’s laughin’ at us.”

Crutchie searches his eyes and bites his lip and Jack thinks, _Oh god, I fucked up,_ just before Crutchie leans in and proves him right. It’s gentle and hesitant and everything Jack thought kissing Crutchie would be, and nothing like it at all. (Because he’s thought about kissing Crutchie. He’s a terrible person, isn’t he?) It’s over far too quickly and then Crutchie is scooting backwards wide-eyed, spouting apologies, making excuses.

Jack realizes he didn’t even get the chance to close his eyes. _Then_ he realizes that Crutchie’s going for the ladder. “Wait, wait, Crutch, wait!” Jack makes a wild grab for him and pulls him away from the edge. “Don’t fall, ya moron.”

Crutchie laughs nervously, pulling out of his grasp and muttering, “Sorry.”

“’S fine,” Jack says, even though it’s not. “You’se okay.” He doesn’t know what he wants to say, because he wants this, but he shouldn’t, and he hasn’t said anything to Katherine, and this is happening all _wrong._ Crutchie’s looking at him like he’s scared, and Jack just wants to kiss him again, and everything is in a jumble— “Just forget about it, alright? It’s not a big deal.” That’s not what he wishes he could say, and Jack is suddenly very glad that he’s good at lying, because Crutchie looks like he’s crumbling and Jack just wants to hug him and tell him that he’s perfect.

There’s a few moments of tense silence wherein Jack’s mind races, and he opens his mouth to take back what he said, but—

Crutchie flashes a smile and relegates himself to a corner. “Thanks, Jack. I… I’m sorry.”

The words leave him. Jack waves a hand and doesn’t look at Crutchie’s face. “I already said, ’s fine.”

Crutchie rolls over, back to him, and Jack can’t bring himself to follow suit. This is a mess, and he doesn’t know how to fix it, but he so badly wants to go back in time and get Crutchie, Davey, and Katherine to just talk this out.

“You’se still my best friend, Crutch,” Jack says eventually, because he knows that Crutchie isn’t asleep yet.

There’s a long delay, and Crutchie’s shoulders are shaking gently. Jack would change everything if he could. “Yeah.” Crutchie’s voice trembles. “I… love you.” A pause. “You don’t gotta say it back.”

Jack doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know how.

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

They don’t talk about it.

The next evening, Jack and Davey are at Jacobi’s, and it’s late enough that most of the other guys have left. Race is the last one to leave, shouting a quick, “See ya back at the Lodge!” even though he knows Jack doesn’t sleep there and Jack knows he’ll be in Brooklyn.

Jack sips a coffee that Davey paid for and watches him go, smirking inwardly. “How’s school goin’?”

Davey snorts and shakes his head. He has a cup of tea that he hasn’t touched. “You sound like my folks. It’s good. Les thinks it’s way more boring than selling papes, but I keep telling him to shove it.”

Jack grins. “And how _is_ our secretary of state?”

“He has fun, even if he wants me to worry about him,” Davey says, with a fond smile. “Kath comes over sometimes, helps him out with homework.” Another smile. “Helps me, too, ’cause I’m shit at mathematics.”

Jack nods. “Kath’s talented. I gotta wonder how she does work, though. If she ain’t with me, she’s helpin’ you or Les or off educatin’ other urchins.”

Davey smiles, but it flickers a bit. “Hey, Jack… I…” He closes his mouth and gets that look that he does whenever he’s trying to decide whether or not to fuck something up.

“Spit it out, Dave,” Jack says, leaning back in his chair and taking another sip of coffee. “I dunno what you gotta be worried about, but it sure as hell ain’t as bad as anythin’ I got.” It’s off-handed enough, but he still hopes that Davey doesn’t inquire any further.

Davey blows out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I wouldn’t say that.” The sobriety in his voice catches Jack’s attention. What could angelic, morally upright Davey have done to warrant this kind of anxiety?

“Well alright,” Jack says, gesturing for Davey to speak. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Immediately, Davey says, “I’m sorry. You’ll… know why.” Well, that’s not ominous. He taps the table next to his tea anxiously, but he holds Jack’s gaze as he says, “I… might’ve kissed Katherine. Well. We might’ve kissed each other.”

Jack thinks back to a couple nights ago, their awkward little greetings, their dancing around any subject but Jack or the strike… oh, fuck. That… makes a lot of sense now. And is surprisingly convenient. Jack takes a moment to consider his actions, but mostly he’s trying not to smile too obviously.

Davey’s watching him nervously, looking like he’s about to cry or bolt or something, and Jack just wants to laugh.

“How… long ago was this?” Jack asks, finally, because he’s too amused to ask anything else.

“A little over a week?” Davey cringes. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just—well—scared, and I didn’t know what to do—”

“’S fine,” Jack mutters, his thoughts tumbling past, louder than his words. He’s been saying that a lot lately, but this time, it might be. “We are stupid.”

“I know, I mean—I am, but—”

“No,” Jack says, and stands abruptly, grabbing Davey’s wrist. He very badly wants Katherine to be a part of this discussion. “C’mon. Let’s go find her.”

“What—ah!”

Jack drags Davey a few blocks before he manages to wrench himself from Jack’s grasp.

“What are you doing? Jack? I’m sorry, please don’t take this out on her.” Davey looks so genuinely scared that Jack has to stop and take a breath. “This isn’t… Blame me, don’t hurt her, or anything.”

Jack raises his eyebrows. “You think I’d hurt Katherine? You really think that?”

Davey looks sheepish. “Well… I dunno…”

It takes a lot of effort not to scoff and sock Davey in the jaw. Jack restrains himself on what he guesses is purely the power of love. “Dave, I ain’t gonna hurt her. I ain’t even mad. We’s just gotta talk everything out ’tween the three a’ us.”

“What do you mean _talk everything out?”_ Davey asks, sounding half-terrified and half-hopeful.

Jack does _not_ want a repeat of what happened with Crutchie, and he _definitely_ does not want Crutchie, Davey, or Katherine ending up getting hurt, and this is all happening so fast, but Davey isn’t moving. So he says, quietly, “I mean that I like you, Dave, a lot, and Kath does, too. And we ain’t gotta make this into some big thing.”

Davey opens his mouth and no sound comes out. Jack stares at him, hoping he didn’t seriously misjudge the situation, and Davey stares back, wordless. Then, in an instant, Davey closes the distance between them, grabs the front of Jack’s vest, and kisses him _hard._ Jack makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat but kisses back, trying to keep up with Davey, whose hands have buried themselves in Jack’s hair. Jack cups his neck gently, and Davey steps even closer.

Jack pulls back first, dazed but just aware enough to say, “Katherine.”

“Right,” Davey breathes against his mouth, and kisses him once more. “Right,” he repeats when they step apart from each other. It’s late enough that nobody else is on the street, and dark enough that nobody would see them from nearby windows. Jack breathes a soft sigh of relief, then takes Davey’s wrist again.

“Let’s go find her.”

 

* * *

 

Katherine has an apartment to herself not far from the Journal, and Jack has spent a fair amount of the past month or so in it. He knows the place back and front, and thus that the window will probably be their best bet this late at night.

When they come to Katherine’s building, Jack leads Davey up onto the fire escape, to the third floor, and shushes him as they peer into the window. Katherine is sitting at her desk, scribbling something down the way she does when she’s got a deadline in the morning and has to have _something._

Jack turns to Davey and offers a hand. Davey takes it and pulls him into a quick kiss, then pulls back. “It’ll be okay,” Davey says, and, damn, Jack hadn’t realized how much he needed that reassurance.

With a nod, Jack turns and knocks on the window.

Katherine looks up, turns to the window, and breaks into a smile when she sees Jack. Then her gaze shifts over to Davey, and her expression just morphs into _confused._

She makes her way over and opens the window, beckoning them both inside. “I’m always afraid that thing is going to give way underneath you or something.”

Jack chuckles and pulls her into a hug. “Good to see you.”

“You… too? We saw each other earlier today. In fact, I spent most of the day with you while you complained about taking Miss Medda’s money.” Katherine steps out of his embrace and glances at Davey. “And, no offense, but why are _you_ here?”

Davey looks at Jack like a deer in the headlights and Jack suddenly feels very self-conscious. “Actually,” Jack says, and Katherine looks away from Davey, who visibly relaxes, “we’s wantin’ to… talk to you.”

Katherine regards them for another moment, then nods and pulls her desk chair out. “Alright then, have a seat. What about?”

Jack sits on her bed and Davey takes the other chair in her room, glancing at each other before Davey starts, “I told him that we kissed.”

Katherine’s expression barely shifts. “I see.” She meets Jack’s gaze evenly. “And you brought him here to…?”

Jack is kind of regretting this, actually. Maybe he can turn back time an hour or so and just punch Davey into the ground and avoid this entire conversation. That’s stupid, though, and he dragged Davey all this way, and he’d also like to be able to kiss the both of them again, so… “I wanna…” he grimaces, “ask your blessin’. And… let you know you’se got mine.”

Katherine just stares at him. “I’m sorry, am I not following this correctly, or—”

“He’s trying to say that we all like each other and should just make out before he accidentally breaks up with you,” Davey interrupts suddenly, looking determined. “But he’s too dumb about emotions to do that.”

Katherine seems to be at a loss for a second, but then she just laughs, bright and happy. “You know, Davey, that sounds like a good idea.” She grins at Jack. “You have my blessing too, idiot.”

Jack can’t do much else but smile because holy _shit!_ And then Katherine pulls him into a kiss and Davey’s laughing at him and he’s too happy to even remember Crutchie or his worries or anything else other than the two people right in front of him.


	4. Crutchie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Crutchie, life is trying. It's a trying time, always, but it's also trying so hard to be better. It's not. He knows that Jack knows this, but Jack forgets sometimes, and it's not fair that Crutchie has to be constantly reminded of how much it sucks. Optimism can only get you so far when your leg isn't any better and you're still begging for money and the two loves of your teenage life are dating some other girl. And each other. And not you. He knows he probably should've expected something like this—they're all so perfect for each other, and he loves each of them, really, but it hurts. Davey still hangs out with him, and he still sleeps in Jack's penthouse, but sometimes Davey brings Katherine or Jack doesn't sleep there and Crutchie sort of wants to curl up in a ball and die. Katherine doesn't visit much. Crutchie's kind of glad. Her blatant denial of the conditions under which the newsies live gets on his nerves sometimes, and he also couldn't count on not crying all over her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. here we go
> 
> \- My beta left a comment that was just "Jack is honestly just the worst" and I'm inclined to agree in this case.  
> \- [Skinny Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssdgFoHLwnk) by Bon Iver is a good song for the Jackcrutchie scene in the theater!  
> \- From my beta: "Kath the surreal strikes again: getting her boyfriends a boyfriend without consulting them"  
> \- Also from my beta: "Alternate titles: Katherine's Harem: The Origin OR In Which Crutchie, Through a Spectacular Display of Self Control, Does Not Actually Punch Someone in the Face"
> 
> BIG thank you to @betwixtthemoon on tumblr for being my lovely beta and generally being an awesome person! I would die without them. And thank you all for reading! I haven't been in this fandom long but y'all seem super nice. Drop by my [tumblr](https://townhulls.tumblr.com/) and send me one-shot requests! Or just message me, if you like. Thanks again.

After the strike, it’s nice to pretend that it never happened. That Jack never met Katherine or Davey or any number of other people who are so much better than Crutchie. That he never went to the Refuge, that he doesn’t wake up sometimes, unable to breathe or trying to scream through tears and choked-back saliva. That it’s just him and Jack, and they’re just selling papes and sleeping under the stars and probably being in love with each other, but are okay with not doing anything about it quite yet.

More than that, it’s especially easy to forget about Jack and Katherine, except Crutchie knows that now, whenever Jack sneaks off, it’s not to go paint, it’s to see her. He knows that they’re happy together, and whatever he thought he had with Jack was obviously just him.

And then he kisses Jack, and it all starts spiraling. Things are weird between them, after that. Jack’s trying hard not to be awkward, and Crutchie very carefully never brings up anything regarding his feelings or those three goddamned words he said that night. They try to just be them again, but it’s labored and off-color. Crutchie almost wishes they would just drop it.

And then there’s Davey and _his_ pining and Crutchie’s pining after _him_ and, Jesus, this would be so much easier if they’d all just never met.

Still, it’s easy to ignore if he stays out late enough and pretends with Jack and makes plans to fall apart all over Davey the next time they see each other.

Well, except that the next time they see each other is when Crutchie gets home to find them pressed into each other, up against one corner of the penthouse, mouths locked together and hands roaming. Jack is pushing Davey up against the railing, straddling his lap, and Davey’s cheeks are pink, his eyelashes fluttering.

Crutchie’s heartbeat spikes, and his face flushes when his brain starts making awful, tempting suggestions. He’s on the verge of screaming or turning around and pretending he didn’t see anything when he catches sight of Katherine, sitting off to one side, reading.

It’s all so very surreal, and Crutchie blinks a few times, just to check that he’s seeing this right.

Then Katherine looks up and meets his eyes, and her eyes widen.

“Boys,” she snaps, cuffing Jack’s shoulder, looking incredibly guilty.

They pause, and see Crutchie, and immediately scramble apart. It would almost be comical, if Crutchie didn’t feel like his heart had just been ripped bodily from his chest and thrown to the curb. Jack chose Davey over him, he muses faintly. It wasn’t even a matter or societal rightness or legality, it was purely that Jack had someone _better_ in mind.

“I’m just…” Crutchie glances over his shoulder and nods quickly. “G’night, guys.” He slides back down the ladder before he can get a response.

He’s probably not meant to hear Davey’s soft, “Shit, no,” or Jack’s “Oh, fuck,” but he does, and doesn’t know how it makes him feel. He stumbles getting off the ladder.

He doesn’t want to sleep outside, so he limps back to the Lodge, and makes his way to Race’s bunk. Like Crutchie’d thought, he’s not there. He won’t mind if Crutchie borrows his bunk for a night or two, right? Right. He’s probably in Brooklyn, anyway, having too much fun to come home.

So Crutchie collapses into the bed and chases away the burden of existence with sleep.

 

* * *

 

He can’t avoid the three of them forever. He has to go back to Jack’s eventually, and it’s only a matter of time before Davey catches him while he’s still selling.

The former is even more stilted than before.

Crutchie comes home early on a Friday and finds Jack already there, a pencil in hand and yesterday’s pape laid out before him. He’s quiet for a few moments, watching Jack draw, trying to admire the moment like he used to.

It’s pointless; every time he looks at Jack he sees Jack-and-Davey, and feels lost. So he clears his throat and heaves himself up into the penthouse, flashing his best smile when Jack looks at him.

His pencil stills immediately, and they just sit there in silence that should be tense but is really just… mournful.

“So, Davey, huh?” Crutchie tries.

“I’m sorry,” Jack replies, and it kills any conversation that Crutchie might’ve come up with.

Another pause, and Crutchie tries to think of a worthy reply. “Don’t be,” he says, even as he wants to shout that _yes, you should be sorry, you broke my heart and you_ know _it,_ “ya can’t control your feelings. _I’m_ sorry I muddled all a’ this up.”

Jack shakes his head and bites his lip and looks like he wants to say something important, but Crutchie can pinpoint the exact moment that he decides to _not do that._

Crutchie considers telling him about the hopeless pining club, but decides that might not be a good idea. How does he navigate this? How can he possibly express everything he wants to? Everything he doesn’t want to?

At length: “Are you happy?”

Jack’s smile is small and guilty, but Crutchie knows that smile. He knows when it’s aimed at him, and he wants to hate Jack for that. He doesn’t; he can’t. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The silence stretches on.

Davey eventually seeks him out, which Crutchie is… mildly surprised by, honestly. It tastes like betrayal and a subdued sort of giddiness. Crutchie’s not sure how the two flavors mix.

Crutchie’s on his last pape, and it’s late, so passersby are reluctant to stop, let alone give him money. “Treason in the White House!” he calls tiredly, pulling out one of Jack’s old favorites as a woman moves along at a clipped pace.

“That real, or is that Jack’s?” someone asks, and Crutchie turns to see Davey, standing a few feet away.

Crutchie smiles immediately, because of course Davey would pull something like this. Then his expression falls and he has to look away before meeting Davey’s eyes again. He doesn’t reply, just takes a moment to examine Davey. He seems nervous, which Crutchie appreciates, in a very un-Crutchie sort of way. At least he has the decency, right?

“One a’ us is Jack’s, and it ain’t me,” he says eventually, and Davey looks away.

“Yeah.”

A pause. “Sorry, that was…”

Davey just shakes his head. “I kinda deserved that.” Crutchie wants to tell him he didn’t, but he gets a little satisfaction out of staying silent. “I didn’t… mean to hurt you. I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

Crutchie offers his best smile. “I know. Ain’t your fault, how he feels.” He shrugs and tries to act like blame doesn’t exist. “Ain’t really his fault, neither.”

“We’d meant to tell you,” Davey blurts, searching Crutchie’s face. “Well, I meant to, specifically.”

“I ’preciate it,” Crutchie murmurs, and nods. “Really, I do. Just… didn’t exactly work out that way.”

Davey steps forward, reaches out, then seems to think better of it. “He told me you asked if he was happy.”

“I did.”

“Thank you.”

Crutchie studies Davey’s shoes. He doesn’t say anything, but he drops his last pape at Davey’s feet. “’S yours,” he mumbles, turning to leave.

“I don’t…” Davey tries, but Crutchie thinks they’re both out of words. “I’m sorry.”

“It was nice ta see ya, Dave,” Crutchie says. “I’ll tell Jack hi for ya, if he’s home.”

Davey doesn’t reply, and Crutchie limps away feeling worse than he had two days ago.

 

* * *

 

He overhears things now, things he kind of wishes he didn’t. Most nights are okay—it’s just him and Jack, and they talk or sleep and generally act like things are normal. Some nights, though, he doesn’t hear Davey’s or Katherine’s voice until he’s on the last rungs of the ladder and he has no choice but to freeze and listen. Some nights, Jack doesn’t come home at all. Those are the worst.

“Ain’t you afraid?” Davey asks one time in hushed tones, as Crutchie lowers his head and hopes they don’t look down. “We ain’t exactly… legal.” There’s barely a second’s pause, and then he starts up again, “Oh, god, what if my folks find out? My sister?”

“Dave—” Jack’s voice tries, placatingly.

“What about Pulitzer, or—”

 _“Davey,”_ Jack insists, and there’s a moment of silence. “I ain’t afraid.”

“Jackie—” Crutchie winces. This hurts. He wishes he could bring himself to move, to slide down the ladder and act like he was never here. He wishes he wasn’t entranced by this moment, paralyzed by the intimacy and by Davey’s tone.

“Ain’t no use worryin’. We’s careful, and there ain’t no police officer what’s gonna go after a coupla teenagers he don’t know.”

A sigh. Crutchie’s sure it’s Davey.

“Plus,” Jack’s voice is tinged with levity, “if Race an’ Spot can manage it, I figure so can we.”

Davey makes a choked noise, and Crutchie catches himself smiling. _“Race and Spot?”_

“Yeah!” Jack laughs. “Dave, you’se blind as a bat an’ thick as a brick! Ain’t you never seen ’em together?”

“No?”

Jack laughs again, and Davey makes an offended noise. “Ow! Hey!”

“Jerk.”

Crutchie heads back down the ladder, then. He can find another place to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Medda’s new show opens on Friday, and Crutchie’s been dreading it all week. Well, not really. He wishes, _really_ wishes, that he could just… stop these feelings for Jack. He still loves spending time with him, loves seeing him smile, seeing him laugh, touching him, hugging him—just, _Jack._ But everything is so complicated and so _unfair_ that where butterflies used to be there is only trepidation.

Still, when he gets Jack to himself, it’s pleasant. So he goes to the show with him, and Medda greets them with a wink, as usual, and they sit in a box together.

Before it starts, Jack leans forward on the railing and shoots Crutchie a smile. “Whatcha figure it’s about?”

“Love, prolly,” Crutchie replies.

Jack nods thoughtfully. “Usually is.”

Crutchie fixes his gaze on the stage below, the gently rustling curtains, the wooden boards of a stage made for dancing. It’s laborious, to focus on anything that isn’t Jack. Crutchie is tired.

So he turns and looks at Jack, profiled against the plush wall of the box. The soft light of the theater matches Jack’s happy expression. Crutchie just admires the way the shadows dance across his skin for a moment, and then Jack glances at him.

Crutchie doesn’t look away, which he has to admit is better than he could’ve managed a couple days ago. “D’ya think she writes these ’bout her own life?”

“Hm,” Jack purses his lips thoughtfully. “I s’pose so. ’Cept, I wouldn’t say that, seein’ as we both knows how far imagination can take you.”

Crutchie lets out a huff of laughter. “Yeah, we do.” He shrugs, then, and tilts his head. “Still, whatcha think you’d write about?”

There’s a thoughtful silence for a few seconds as they both mull it over. “My family,” Jack says, looking out at the stage, then back at Crutchie. “Not my folks. They ain’t worth writin’ about. I’d tell the story a’ you, an’ the guys, an’ Davey an’ Katherine.” Something in his eyes is meaningful and soft with affection. Crutchie tucks the look away in his memories, for posterity and for love. “That is,” Jack continues, “if I were any good at writin’.”

“’Course,” Crutchie scoffs, and they both smile.

The show starts with a flare of music, and the story is exactly as they’d predicted. Still, Crutchie likes the dancing and the way Medda’s incorporated Jack’s backdrops. Crutchie spots the one with the river, and barely notices the wistful smile creeping across his face.

Jack keeps a steady, sarcastic commentary going—“Oh, come on, don’t do it— _and_ he done it. Nitwit.”—until they’re shushed from below. The third time this happens, Crutchie gives Jack a pointed look and they’re quiet for the rest of the show. Crutchie’s just a little disappointed about it.

When it’s over, Jack’s quiet for several moments, and then he turns to Crutchie with a small, private smile. “Let’s go home.”

They don’t speak on the way back, but it’s still comfortable. Street lamps pass in the dim moonlight. It’s misty, and Crutchie thinks it’ll rain tonight. Thinks he might be able to sleep through it.

He stops a few blocks from their penthouse. “Jack?” he whispers, barely a breath into the silence. Jack stops a few steps ahead and turns to look at him, his eyes glinting. “What happened to us?”

Jack’s quiet—a thoughtful, sorry sound. A beat. He steps back and takes Crutchie’s hand. And Crutchie understands.

They sleep pressed together that night, and Crutchie lets himself feel okay.

 

* * *

 

They don’t talk about it in the morning. Crutchie’s alright with that, though. Jack gives him a charming smile and makes sure he doesn’t fall off of the ladder, and they walk close enough to bump shoulders on their way to get papes.

Romeo briefly meets Crutchie’s eyes as they’re waiting, and after a moment of intense scrutiny, gives a smile and a thumbs-up. Crutchie returns the smile, but then the headline is up and the moment is over.

Jack claps him on the shoulder and murmurs “Good luck” to him before they part ways, and it puts a grin on Crutchie’s face all the way ’til noon.

He’s playing with the concept of lunch, mostly because it’s entirely foreign and sounds incredibly interesting, when a familiar voice calls, “I’ll take one.”

“’Course,” Crutchie says, even before he realizes who spoke. He’s holding out a paper when he looks up to see Katherine. She takes the paper and gives him a coin before he has time to react. “Oh.”

“Hi, Crutchie,” she says, tucking the paper under her arm.

Crutchie offers a hesitant smile. “Hey, Katherine. What… what’s ya doin’ here?”

“I actually wanted to talk to you about something private.” Katherine jabs a thumb over her shoulder. “Care to grab lunch with me?”

“Sure,” Crutchie agrees, glancing down to put her coin in his pocket— “This is a nickel.”

“I know,” she says. “Keep the change.”

Crutchie pockets the coin with no further hesitation and picks up the rest of his papes, following Katherine as she leads the way towards an unassuming little café with a red brick front and a black wood door.

Inside, there’s the quiet murmur of people, rustling and speaking and eating. Katherine sits across from him in a booth, tucked away in a corner. Crutchie gets the sinking feeling that he knows what this conversation is about.

“I don’t want to offend you,” she says, pausing as a waiter comes over and deposits glasses of water at their table. She wraps her hands around her glass and taps her fingernails against it, nervous.

“’S hard ta offend a newsie,” Crutchie replies congenially.

Katherine shrugs, still looking unsure. She takes a deep breath and says, “We need to talk about Jack and Davey.”

Crutchie drops her gaze immediately, but he can see her nodding out of the corner of his eye. “I ain’t about ta do somethin’ stupid,” Crutchie says carefully. There’s no point trying to hide or deny anything now. “I’s already done that, and it’s ruined things. And I ain’t gonna ruin things ’tween you three, neither, ’cause you makes ’em happy an’ that’s what we all want.” He finally looks back up at Katherine. She’s frowning, not uncertain, but like she doesn’t agree with him.

“That… wasn’t what I was going to say.” Katherine removes her hands from around her glass, pushes it further away from her, and folds her hands together. “They…” She stops again and smiles, then says, more confidently, “In the immortal words of Davey, ‘You all like each other and should just make out before one of you does something stupid, like accidentally breaking up with all of us.’”

Crutchie doesn’t reply for a moment. The Jack thing he saw coming. He’s lame, not blind. Davey, though? “Davey didn’t actually say that,” he says slowly.

Katherine smiles. “I may have edited it slightly. The spirit remains.”

Crutchie’s heart begins pounding. Belatedly, he realizes what Katherine actually said. “Wait, wait, wait, so you’se sayin’ that you’se…”

“Crutchie,” Katherine says, tone slightly patronizing, “you said that we all want Jack and Davey to be happy. You realize we all want that for you, too, right?” She tilts her head in consideration. “Well, and you being happy makes them happy, by extension. They both feel horrible about this whole ordeal, you know.”

Crutchie starts to feel lightheaded. He takes a drink of water. Then he says, “So you’se completely alright with all a’ this?”

Katherine’s eyebrows knit. “Well, yeah. Of course.” Her smile turns quizzical. “You realize I’m already seeing both of them, right? Nothing makes you feel secure in a relationship like adding a third person. Or a fourth.”

Crutchie takes a moment to make sure he’s breathing properly, and takes another sip of water. Until now, he’s kind of… disliked Katherine. Or, at least, he’s been bitter about her general existence. He could never find it in himself to hate her, and now he just kind of wants to give her a hug.

He frowns, though, once more. “And you’re sure about the Davey thing?”

Katherine laughs and puts a hand to her forehead long-sufferingly. Crutchie gets the idea that it’s not aimed towards him. “Crutchie. Trust me. The guy is a _mess_ about you.”

Crutchie lets himself smile, then. It’s a beautiful feeling. “Wow,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Katherine says, her voice brimming with amusement. “Want to go find them?”

Crutchie makes an aborted attempt at a nod, glancing with uncertainty down at his extra papes. “I… can’t.” He looks at Katherine unhappily. “Gotta finish sellin’, ’wise I ain’t gettin’ any dinner tonight.”

Katherine’s face falls for just a moment, eyes tracking over the dust and grime and bruises that Crutchie’s lost count of, and then her smile’s back full-force. “Tonight, then? After this fabled dinner?”

Crutchie snorts. “Sure thing. Tonight.”

 

* * *

 

“Tonight” doesn’t end up happening. Crutchie is distracted throughout the rest of the day, and by the time sundown rolls around, he’s still got a dozen papes to sell. He keeps thinking about what he’s going to say to Jack and Davey, though. He can’t get it off his mind.

Around when the clock tower in the cathedral chimes ten, Crutchie spots Davey among the crowds of people still flooding the street. Davey, coming straight for him. _Oh no._

Crutchie barely has time to start worrying before Davey reaches him and doesn’t even slow, grabbing Crutchie’s arm and dragging him with him.

“Davey, what—?” Crutchie stumbles over his papes and his crutch and his own goddamned foot, but Davey slows a tiny bit and Crutchie can get his feet back under him. “What are ya—where’s we—”

Davey pulls him into the nearest doorway, the overhang casting shadows over both of them. They face each other, entirely too close to be comfortable, Davey breathing heavily, like he’s just been running, and Crutchie glancing around warily.

“Have you seen Kath today?” Davey asks, once he regains his composure somewhat.

Crutchie nods. “She came by ’round lunch,” he says, not sure how much to disclose.

Davey swears, so Crutchie guesses he knows what she said, anyway. Davey grabs Crutchie’s shoulders and studies him very intensely. “What exactly did she tell you?”

Crutchie’s getting more and more nervous by the second. Had Katherine been wrong about Davey? What if she’s already told Davey and Jack and they hate him? What if this ruins _everything?_ He realizes he hasn’t said anything. “Um—just—she said, she—” Crutchie stops, knowing that isn’t going anywhere. A deep breath. “She said you two… um… thought—or—might—” he sighs sharply, his words abandoning him.

Davey seems to get what he means, though, because he goes pale, expression apologetic. “I—yeah. I know that you—uh, Jack… but I—”

Crutchie almost laughs. Look at the two of them, a couple of stuttering fools. He steels himself, then, and makes a decision. Davey goes quiet when Crutchie looks down, gently takes his hand, and pulls him closer. Another second, and Crutchie tilts his head up and presses his lips to Davey’s. Davey relaxes into the kiss immediately, and Crutchie nearly drops his crutch when he pulls him closer. Crutchie has to rock forward on his good leg, and suddenly they’re pressed together chest-to-chest, and Davey pulls back very slightly.

His hands slowly come up to cup Crutchie’s face, and they both break into soft smiles.

“Are you alright with…?” Davey leaves the rest of the question implied.

Crutchie raises his eyebrows. “I like both a’ ya. Take your guess.”

Davey laughs and presses a kiss to Crutchie’s forehead, looking like his world’s just been made. “God, you dunno how… _God.”_

Crutchie chuckles and shrugs. “I might.”

It takes a moment for Davey to fully process the words, and then his expression turns more serious. He rests his forehead against Crutchie’s and looks into his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He sounds so mournful that Crutchie wants to kiss him and tell him it’s not his fault at all. “You didn’t deserve any of that. We… we fucked up. We ain’t never gonna be able to make it up to you.”

Crutchie smiles, small and grateful. “’S alright. I take it I got ya now?”

“It’s not, though,” Davey insists. “And you do, for sure.”

Crutchie kisses him quickly and gives his shoulder a playful nudge. “Then you’se already made up for it.”

Davey still looks conflicted, but Crutchie gives him another little shove and steps back, regaining his balance and control of his crutch. “We gotta go find Jack.”

“Shit, right.” Davey pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, thinking. “I guess he’ll be… more towards Midtown? We shoulda figured this out better.”

“Figured what out?”

Davey stops talking abruptly and looks very embarrassed. “We, uh… we sorta panicked and went looking for you. We split up.”

Crutchie snorts. “Aw, shucks. Well, let’s go find him.”

They run into Jack on his way to find them, so they end up meeting not far from the penthouse. Jack’s with Katherine when they spot each other, his expression unreadable. It makes Crutchie nervous, even though, hypothetically, this should turn out fine. Katherine shoves Jack towards them when she sees them, whispering something in his ear that makes him smirk and shake his head, then stands back and turns away. Crutchie silently thanks her. He doesn’t know how he’d manage this if he knew there was someone watching.

Crutchie tries to think of something to say, anything to articulate everything he’s been trying to say for years. He realizes that this is _Jack._ His best friend. There’s a lot riding on these words, he thinks.

When Jack reaches them, they retreat into the shadows of a nearby alley, and Crutchie speaks first: “I meant what I said. About… lovin’ you.” It seems like the right thing to say.

Davey goes very still beside him, and Jack seems to hesitate for just a moment before he offers a tiny, conciliatory smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t say nothin’ back. I dunno why I didn’t. I—” he pauses and his gaze flickers to Davey, who has very carefully detached himself from this particular conversation. Jack suddenly steps forward and reaches out to cup Crutchie’s neck, bringing their faces inches apart. “I… love you, too. And I ain’t never said it, and I regret every day I didn’t.” He stares into Crutchie’s eyes like he needs him to understand something important and fundamental and painful. Crutchie’s pretty sure he gets it.

Crutchie smiles then, and leans in to kiss him. They’re both smiling, so it’s more of a press of lips on lips and a clacking of teeth, but after another second they shift closer and it’s much, much more intimate than that. Jack’s thumbs caress Crutchie’s jawline, pulling him impossibly nearer, and tilting his head so they can deepen the kiss. When they break apart, Crutchie takes a deep breath and ducks his head down, sheepish.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, and glances at Davey, too, who he just now notices has not looked away from them and has flushed noticeably. Crutchie’s surprised he can even tell, in the low light. It almost distracts him from finishing his point, too. He clears his throat. “Long as you’se serious about this, you ain’t gotta apologize. I’s just sorry we missed out on so much time.” He looks at Jack earnestly, trying to make him understand. Crutchie’s never been good at holding grudges, especially when he doesn’t really want to.

Jack’s lips twitch into a slight frown. “It was real shitty, though. And I plan on makin’ it up ta you.”

Crutchie grins. “I’ll take ya up on that.”

They part enough to take Davey into their embrace, and the three of them stand there together, arms around each other. Crutchie tries to believe that this has actually happened.

Davey knocks his forehead against Crutchie’s gently, after a little while. “You’re sure you’re okay with all a’ this?”

“You already asked that,” Crutchie says, giving him a mock-exasperated look. “If you’se askin’ about Katherine an’ everythin’, it’s like she said today. I just want you two ta be happy. Figure we’s all okay with sharin’.”

Davey and Jack laugh, and the three of them linger in the moment until there comes a light cough behind them. Crutchie turns to see Katherine standing at the mouth of the alley, wearing a slightly awkward expression.

“Hey, uh, just… it’s getting late, and Davey has school in the morning, and you guys have papes to sell, and I have work, so…” She shrugs. “We can all stay at my place tonight, if you want?” She nods to Crutchie. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

Three pairs of expectant eyes turn to him. Crutchie offers a noncommittal shrug, then a slightly more sure, “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Katherine.”

She beams, and beckons them. “Come on, then. You have to help me move the couch, because my bed is _not_ meant for four people.”

They laugh, and all link hands as they walk, and it feels cheesy and perfect. Crutchie can’t help but marvel at everything as he gets used to the feeling of Davey’s hand in his.

 

* * *

 

A couple days later, it rains. They spend the evening in Katherine’s apartment, all bunched up on the couch. Crutchie’s not sure how they actually all fit on there, but it might have something to do with the fact that Katherine’s practically sitting on Jack’s lap, and Davey keeps pulling Crutchie closer to him, pressing kisses to his neck.

They’re supposed to be reading Katherine’s new article for corrections, and looking through painting concepts that Jack brought, and maybe going through Davey’s paper for school, but they got distracted a _long_ time ago.

“That tickles,” Crutchie hisses, jerking away when Davey kisses just under his ear. That gets Jack’s attention, who suddenly leans over to lightly touch Crutchie’s neck.

“Ya mean right here?” Jack asks, voice low, as he presses his lips to a spot that makes Crutchie shiver.

“Stop, Jack, c’mon,” he whines, shoving at him, and Jack just laughs and kisses him again, and Crutchie pauses to take in the moment, before pushing him away for good. “I’m serious.”

Jack holds up his hands in surrender. Davey squeezes his arm in some sort of apology.

“Almost endearing, isn’t it?” Katherine asks off-handedly, and Crutchie looks up to see her biting her lip, scrutinizing her article.

Crutchie squints. “I dunno ’bout that, but I’ll kick the ass a’ the one of ’em that tries it again.”

Katherine blinks up at him and laughs in surprise, and Crutchie smiles back at her. “Anyway,” she says, nudging Jack. “Weren’t you going to show us your paintings?”

Jack nudges her back. “I s’pose I was. Figure we got better things ta do?”

Katherine looks conflicted for a moment, glancing back at her article. There’s a second where it looks like she might actually go back to reading, then she turns to him, beams, and pecks him on the lips. “Figure we do.”


End file.
